DEEEEEEEERP slow
The ash-dusted male was glad that this meeting was going so well—their previous meeting had not gone to his liking, and the silver-shaded man certainly reciprocated her pleasure. “И ты! Я рад этой встрече, кажется, идет хорошо.” He lifted his hands toward the fire for a moment to warm them, though it was not exceptionally cold. Perhaps this was just habitual with fire; after a moment he dropped them back down to his thighs, resting them over his pants. “Ах, да,” he said the sable tip of his tail wagging softly. “И вы тоже,” he said, genuinely glad of this. Their last meeting had gone so poorly; this one was worlds better already. The woman took the flask from him readily and drank from it, and the werewolf grinned and laughed at her comment. “Да, кажется, бутылки, что действительно поднимает нас,” the Russian said, rolling his shoulders in a happy shrug. He certainly didn't mind; he'd been drinking as long as he could remember, ever since those long summers on the islands with his brothers. “Конечно. Она выглядит как прекрасная еда.” Rurik wasn't exaggerating in the slightest; while he knew his way around a cooking fire, he was no Thorn, and he missed his brother's wonderful touch with food.
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